Sunday
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: Ashley POV :: Little bit of angst, little bit of fluff :: Love hides, love happens, love ends and love begins again. :: Was listening to a lot of cool music and it inspired me.


I've watched you tan every Sunday, like boys watch the waves roll in and try to chase them down.

Like lots of other girls watch those same boys, batting eyelashes like Venus fly traps – set to stun, set to capture.

But they run on past me, kicking up sand and stirring up breezes of humidity, and I keep on watching you – you, pale white cat and stretched out like a fallen flag, hints of baby-blonde fuzz along your arms.

You, pink sunglasses on and lips smiling at some private joke, and if I had any balls at all… I'd amble on over and ask you what is so funny on this day, on every Sunday that finds you here on this beach.

If I had any kind of courage, I'd toss this flask full of stolen whiskey down and wipe my mouth and pepper you with questions.

Like where do you hark from, cornfields or just around the corner?

Like who is your daddy… and is he rich like me?

Like what music do you listen to? Do you rock? Do you roll?

Like why didn't I meet you years ago, when I was still fresh and happy… when I was still able to talk to pretty girls and not smirk my way into their pants, but laugh my way into their hearts?

You flex your fingers and turn those palms up and I want to warn you about the sun burning that delicate surface. You dig your toes into the ground and I can almost hear the perfect sigh from your mouth, because everyone knows just how good that coolness feels with the heat blaring down on your skin.

You inhale deeply and I wonder if you are catching the scent of oceans that are millions of miles away and I'd hunt down creatures in the forest just to be the breath in your lungs.

I've watched you tan every Sunday, your bag listless beside you and your flip-flops lying haphazardly atop each other. I've watched you sleep away the day, towel wrinkled and always the color of plums.

I've watched you until you get up and twist your back and glance around to see if anyone saw your movements, if anyone is studying you as you shake off the day.

But my gaze is on friends, people I don't care to know but who care to know me, and I am saying something about a band and I am taking a long drag from a cigarette and someone is lingering by my shoulder, whispering dirty things in my ear… and you'd never know that I spent the whole morning, the whole afternoon, just watching you… all of my Sundays just watching you.

/ / / / / / /

He shouldn't let you get that trashed. He shouldn't let you fall that far from grace.

But his hands are just inching their way up under your blouse and if you were sober you would bat his touch away, but you are as far from sober as L.A. is from China.

And if we were friends, I just might save you.

And if we were enemies, I just might let you get in too deep.

And if we were nothing at all, I'd do nothing at all.

But he shouldn't take advantage of your tequila shots and your beers chasers.

He shouldn't lay his tongue along yours if your eyes are rolling back.

He shouldn't do things like that. You shouldn't let him.

You shouldn't be this drunk and this reckless, it flies in the face of your honor-roll dreams and your white-picket fence world.

It shatters whatever image you crafted, a mother's overbearing wishes ladled onto your back, and your blues eyes are watery with this disobedience.

You are cracking before everyone here tonight and he shouldn't be using that to get laid.

You shouldn't be letting him do that. You shouldn't be doing any of this.

And if we were friends, I just might stop you.

And if we were enemies, I just might push you to your end.

And if we were nothing at all, I'd walk away.

But we are not any of those things, nice when we could be cruel and unknown when we could be lovers… and we've passed up so many chances to be more than either of us deserve, hand-shakes that feel like kisses and looks that feel like nakedness.

And if you were mine, I wouldn't treat you this way.

And I were yours, you wouldn't need to run so fast.

And if we were better than all of this, we could be the best.

You shouldn't be dragged upstairs and you shouldn't be so compliant when you are usually so stubborn.

He shouldn't be pushing your hair back and sucking on your neck with all these people staring.

I shouldn't give a damn, because we are not friends or enemies.

But we are something.

We are something. We are something… and I shouldn't let you disappear tonight.

/ / / / / / /

Our eyes don't meet much anymore and I am okay with that, because lies are being told – by you and by me – and it's like we made a silent agreement.

We signed our names to an invisible contract and we made a childhood pact and we won't talk about it, even under threat of death.

Still… still, at the base of my skull, there are you… carving your stare into my flesh and it burns and I want to shake you and I want to tell you to stop.

Still… still, I want you still.

The plates underneath the layers of earth shift and split, they hit one another and something has to give. So the ground opens up and cities tumble and everything changes – that's you and I, one single act of nature and all things fall apart.

Do you feel that way, too?

Do you feel that way when you see me in the hallways, too?

Do you feel that way at night, in your bed, dreaming of what could have been… do you feel that way, too?

Still… still, the length of your legs and I am mesmerized… remembering how right they were against my own, bare and brazen, and I want to forget and I want to erase you.

Still… still, I want you still.

And his hand is in yours. And the way everyone parts for you, a queen with her king.

And your happiness betrays you, because I can see the hopelessness upon you.

And I know I look the same, I know I will falter, I know I will cave – so I just don't come to school today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.

Because it'll happen sooner or later and the cars will get buried and the buildings will shake and you will crash into me and I won't have the strength to push you away.

/ / / / / / /

If this were a movie, someone would beg me to stay and to stick around and fix these mistakes and tough out the bad times. If this were a movie, I'd cry a bit and you'd tell me your truth and we'd decide to fight another day.

Or fight for another day, just one more fucking day, just one more day to try and make things right.

But we just live in the land of films and celluloid fantasies, where love is purchased and created and fabricated and wins out. That's not reality, is it?

Reality is this – I love you. And I've loved you for so long. Longer than all those stupid guys who pursued you and longer than the one guy who caught you and longer than the affection you thought you had for him.

I loved you before I knew your name, all those summers ago, counting my hours by the time you spent in the sunlight before me.

I have loved you like no other, better than I love myself, better than anyone else has ever tried to love another person… That is how much I love you, how well I love you.

And the random whispers of forever we had, coated in hesitance, are ours to keep.

And the bits and pieces of pleasure we had, swallowed up in shadow, are ours to cherish.

And if this were a movie, you'd say something grand and I'd change my mind and all the people we hurt in the process of our devotion would somehow forgive us… or let us be… or they wouldn't matter at all.

If this were a movie, we'd find a way to make it work and your tears wouldn't just about kill me and my hands wouldn't grasp onto you so desperately and the call overhead for a plane taking off wouldn't sound like the end of time.

But we just live in the land of make-believe.

And that's not reality, is it?

/ / / / / / /

The way you slide across the floor, neon lights against your body, and I am catapulted backwards.

A cannonball towards the past and I am hurtling – so fast and slamming so hard and I can't finish this drink in my hand and I can't hear the words coming from the woman at my hip.

And you fade in and out of view, a mirage of a memory and I lean heavily against the bar and that woman at my arm is frustrated and I don't blame her at all.

Because I look like a man caught by a former wife… I look like a woman trapped on a sinking ship.

I look like I did on the day I left everything that ever meant a damn thing behind me and ignored the calls and turned that great love into a figment of my imagination.

I look like a girl in high-school, lockers at my back and longing in my heart, watching a blonde beauty waltz on by.

And you fade in and out of view, a whirling dervish to the beat, and I stagger instead of strut and I reach out to you as if I could reach back in time.

The way your eyes flash and go wide and burn so hot – and I never got far enough away.

The way your lips form a firm line and sneer and grow cold – and I never got over you.

The way you knock me off and force an exit from this crowd and angrily swish your hair – and I never wanted things to go this way.

That woman is in my face and cursing and all those sweaty bodies are still moving and that beat is still pulsing and I'd like to be less aware and more inebriated.

Or, better yet, I'd like to chase you down and wrap my arms around you and kiss you until you take me into your life again.

I'd like to kiss us back to present time, wake up in your arms and marry you tomorrow.

And you fade in and out of view, slamming the door and I am the one left this time.

And I look like a loser… because I am one.

/ / / / / / /

It's not fun to break hearts, to watch the light go out of a person's gaze and know that you snuffed it out – your fingers pinching the flame. It's not fun to know that you can have that kind of hold over someone and that they give it over to you willingly… they give you the means to their own possible destruction.

And then you destroy them.

I see it now, no longer bound by the fears we had and the chaos we made, I see just how easily I took your love and strangled it.

And I see how quickly I allowed myself to be maimed, welcomed each and every bruise – each and every blow – all to have a part of you… if I couldn't have all of you, if we couldn't have all of each other…

How you find me, you never tell and I never ask.

But we sit so quietly, words stuck in our throats and sentiments hanging on to our lips, side by side and nursing our beverages – just like adults, just like the mixed up parents that we never wanted to emulate, just like anyone at all.

And when we finally talk, I never knew I could be so soft and I never knew you could be so loud and I never knew so many things about you.

I didn't know your dreams, because I only wanted to know if I was in them. I didn't know your wishes, because I only wanted to know if I could grant them. I didn't know what kept you up at night or what monsters lurked in your head, because I just wanted to be the one you called.

I knew half of you and believed I could love all of you.

It's not fun to grow up and see what a mess I am.

But when you stand, I call your name. And when you face me, I say I am sorry. And when you accept it, we embrace. And when your breath dances in my hair, I am glad to not be a child anymore.

Because it is the mess you hold. It is the glimmer of good in this tragedy that we cling to.

It is just you and I, staring over.

Just like adults. Just like anyone at all.

/ / / / / / /

I watch you as you recline back, feet barely dusting the floor and head sloped to the side, the day playing over your body – highlighting one shoulder and neglecting the other, painting your face in shade and sun – and I move closer.

You murmur and your hair falls over your closed eyes and I move closer. The slow rise and descent of your chest matches the pounding of my heart and I move closer.

And I breathe you in, fragrant and floral and clean, and I move closer and I brush my lips against your cheek and I don't want to wake you.

But your hands float up, snag onto my old shirt and tug me down – right onto your lap, right into all that sunshine, right into you – and I move closer.

I move closer and closer until not even air can come between us now.

You trail the tip of your nose along my jaw and walk those fingers up my sides and I shudder and I let my head sag to your neck and I didn't want to wake you up, but I am glad you are no longer sleeping.

I am glad you are here, in my unfinished apartment and in my chair and in my arms and in my life.

I am glad you are here, on this planet and in this lifetime.

I am glad you are here and I think you know it.

Your grin is lazy and your mouth is hot against mine and I feel like an artist with the way I touch you – molding and shaping your breasts, drawing designs upon your bare back – and I've waited forever for you and I to begin, to be an 'us', to be more than we once were.

And it was so worth the wait. You are so worth the wait.

I watch you as you undulate, ripples of your flesh, and I capture your gasps and I lap up your moans and I drink you down as if I were dying of thirst – and you keep me close… you keep me against you, sliding us to the floor, touches that quest and seek and find and I finally give you everything.

My love and my honor, my need and my desire, my faith and my fears, my looks and my voice, my all and my always... you get it all.

And I watch you, stored up Sundays now revealed, and something in your eyes tells me that you've known all along.

/ / / / / / /

::END::


End file.
